


Time Enough

by klytaemnestra (klytae)



Series: Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [16]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27487639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klytae/pseuds/klytaemnestra
Summary: There was never time enough.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Series: Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915873
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	Time Enough

In the end Rufus Shinra questions if any of it will matter, or if he is simply delaying the inevitable. Each step that he takes places him ever closer to that destruction he has witnessed, the ghostly visions of his city lost to ruin, and what he can only surmise is his own death. He smiles wanly and takes a drink of his cognac, the taste now bitter, and acrid on his tongue. There is no pleasure or joy left for him, only duty, determination. He pushes aside his own wants, and needs to save his city, and the planet from the many sins of his father, and those of his own.

AVALANCHE has escaped, he supposes in another lifetime perhaps they might well have been allies, but they had not wanted his help, and so he must turn his focus to Midgar. To preserving the only thing he still holds, the city that he’s long dreamt of, and now knows he will lose if he makes even the slightest miscalculation. The cannon has been removed from the port, to be transported back, and with a few modifications, mounted atop his tower as a last defense against the Titans that the planet has awakened.

He’s faced down one, and succeeded. But even he knows that his luck is in short supply.

He’s to return to Midgar in 2 days time, his advisors, what few remain, oversee the initial efforts, and he is told to rest. Tseng’s words echo back at him. _You’re no good to anyone if you don't get some sleep._ Sleep, he feels as if he’s not slept uninterrupted since the night his father was assassinated, and with Tseng gone--

He chokes down another mouthful of liquor. There has been no time to mourn. They held a small memorial service in the days following the notice that he was MIA, presumed dead. Rufus hadn’t the resolve to dare to hope. A small affair, Tseng’s Turks, Reeve, and Rufus, standing away in the shadows, as a small plaque was added to the names of those fallen in the service of Shinra. He lingered in the aftermath, and when finally he was alone, pressed his lips against the etched words, and said his goodbyes.

Tseng deserves better. The man who had been his lover, friend, and most trusted confidante is owed more than a paltry metal plaque, but Rufus finds he can barely bring himself to utter his name, much less properly mourn him. Reno, Rude, and Elena, still raw with their own grief, continue on with their duty, why should he be given the luxury of wallowing in his own sorrow? There’s a dull pressure from unshed tears, the ache of them combined with the alcohol making his head pound. He wishes he could weep, enough tears that they might drown him, to be lost to the torrent, but it seems he’s forgotten how to cry.

Sephiroth cuts a swathe of madness and destruction across the planet, and soon enough he’ll have little to care about except Midgar, but in this moment, as the sun slips beneath the watery horizon, and casts him into darkness, he longs to break beneath the weight of his loss. He downs the remainder of his drink, and pours another. There is no one here to share his grief, and so he settles at his desk, retrieving fountain pen and paper, and writes. Words of loss, doubt, love, some addressed to Tseng, others admitting his failures, his sins, his cruelty in sending his lover to die, and how in the end it is he who is left to languish. He buries his head in half gloved hands, and wills himself to focus above the growing haze of alcohol.

If one were to ask Rufus exactly what Tseng means to him, he could not find the words. Only that he has meant _everything_ , and now that he is gone, and with it their dream of ruling Midgar together, he finds what is left to be a hollow thing, indeed.

He folds the paper, into halves, and then fourths, and reverently places it in his desk drawer. If he were sentimental, he might think of them as final tokens of his love, for he knows with that same bitter certainty he felt the night he learned of his lover’s death that he will not survive this trial. Only that he must try to save Midgar. It is all he has, and to fail in that. He takes another drink, upturning the hard crystal, and accepts that he _wants_ to die, and questions how it is that he has allowed a Turk to mean so very much. Weakness, his father would call it, his words echoing in his head. His threats to have Rufus end this relationship. Perhaps he had seen it for what it is, a flaw in Rufus’ resolve, and ambition, that in the end Midgar is simply not enough, and how blind he has been to not see it until it is too late, his sacrifice already made. He’s on his feet a moment later, the alcohol churning, choking. He makes it to the kitchen sink before he doubles over, and retches up brandy mixed with bile, and realizes he’s not eaten in days.

_Pathetic. Weak. Petulant._ The words his father. _I won’t have my son acting like some Wall Market rentboy._

He vomits again, until there’s nothing left, and then slips to the tile floor and curls into himself. Tomorrow, he’ll have to be strong, a day to collect himself, and sort out his wits, put on that mask of indifference, to be the leader Shinra needs, the man who will save Midgar, but tonight he wants to give in. He strips off his gloves, looks to the twin marks of faded scars, and scratches his nails along them, hard enough that blood wells around abused flesh, thinks to scratch deeply enough until he’s met with sinew and bone, to show the world that even if Rufus Shinra has forgotten to cry, he can still bleed, that his blood is the only thing he can offer up in memory of the man who he loves.

The sound of his PHS breaks through the shroud of grief. He fumbles for it, sees the name ‘Scarlet’ emblazoned across the screen, and drags himself up right. ‘Yes?’ There is no need for formality, not any longer. Whether they respect his authority or not, he is Shinra, and they will follow him. She tells him of the modifications being a success, they’ve deemed her new weapon ‘Sister Ray’, and she will perform magnificently in the defense of Midgar. ‘Thank you, Scarlet. I appreciate your efforts. Keep me updated on any changes.’ He waits until the line cuts out, settles back against the cabinets, and stares at the number labeled ‘voicemail’. He thinks to Tseng’s final messages to him, how he cannot bring himself to replay them even if they’re nothing more than routine check-ins. There’s little reason in tormenting himself so. He sets the phone aside, and traces his fingertips along the bloody furrows left.

He stands after a while, steps into the bathroom to clean himself up, brushes his teeth, bandages his scars, and tries not to look at the reflection staring back at him. He must be stronger than this, for all their sake, Rufus Shinra must put aside his wants, and be the leader he was born to be.

He settles on the sofa, and pretends to read. Anything to get his mind off Tseng, but this place is filled with the ghost of his dead lover. The many afternoons spent curled together on this sofa, arms and legs entwined as they shared soft kisses. The stolen weekends where Tseng would visit him, where they had repaired their broken relationship, forged it into something true, built on mutual love and respect and trust. He sits up suddenly, book left face down on the coffee table. He crosses the room to the windows to take in the sight of the shipyard, and feels as if this is a prison once more.

30 hours later, he’s airborne, en route back to Midgar. Once Rufus lands, there will be no time to rest, and whatever grief he feels must be pushed aside once more. He’s met by Heidegger and Scarlet, debriefing him on their progress. Reeve stands off to the side, quietly observing, but when they go, he comes to Rufus, hesitant at first, they never truly talked, but Reeve is one of the very few who know exactly what Tseng was to Rufus. Rufus is once again sleek professionalism, not a single icy blonde strand out of place, though his eyes bear the dark purple shadows of a man who’s not had a restful night in weeks. 

‘You wanted something, Tuesti?’ Rufus asks, light eyes glancing up from his computer monitor, watches the way the man hesitates, faltering around words that begin and die on his lips. ‘I have a lot of work to do, if this is merely a social call.’ He doesn’t have the time for whatever Reeve is playing at, if there are condolences to be had, he’s welcome to save them. Reeve had never cared for Tseng, or those like him, there is little reason to pretend like he cares now.

Reeve tenses, shifts from one leg to the other, eyes dark, unreadable as he straightens ever so slightly under Rufus’ scrutiny. ‘No, Mr President. I only want to see how you were getting on.’

Rufus knows a lie, but presses it no further. ‘You doubt my ability as a leader?’

‘Sir, it’s that you shouldn’t shoulder this alone.’

‘I have no need of your counsel, Tuesti.’ The words are clipped, and he tosses a pen across his desk in frustration. He’s more irritable than usual. The loss of Tseng means he’s not only lost his closest advisor, but also the only person within Shinra who knows how to handle him. He supposes were he not a man so recently bereaved he might find someone to fuck him, perhaps Tuesti would be up for the task. He laughs barely at the thought. The way he might go red at the suggestion.

Reeve does leave him moments later, alone with his work, and his thoughts, and the lingering sorrow that has left him numb. He retreats back to his penthouse later in the night. Darkstar waits, though sensing her master’s mood, retreats into the corner. He wishes it were not so, but he can hardly find it within himself to muster even the barest of emotions now that he is back in Midgar. Discarding his coat in a drape of white, he slowly undresses as he crosses the room, removes his gloves, and touches the marks now in a state of healing.

The bedside drawer with its assortment of toys brings him no satisfaction, still he sprawls out across the bed and tries to seek some release. There are a few photos of Tseng tucked away, pictures he’s hidden for years, finally free to keep them near. Some of them he’s dressed in his dark suit, deadly as ever, others though, the ones Rufus has taken during moments of candor, Tseng naked, body taut, beautiful. He slides a well lubed glass toy into his ass and thinks of him there above him. He’s not touched himself since Tseng’s death, and he comes quickly, groaning out his release though he feels little relief. He kisses the photo before propping it up on the nightstand.

‘Tseng.’ He sighs his name into the stillness, then again, and again. It still feels unthinkable even now, that he’s gone, and Rufus will have to find a way without his careful, patient guidance. There was never time enough. And now, Rufus must accept that he will have to do this alone. He smiles a little, a terrible sorrowful thing, for he knows enough about loneliness that he will manage.

_Fin_


End file.
